Loser Lawsuit
by mywildimagination
Summary: Rick Riordan gets sued by the owners of Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium and C.C.'s Spa and Resort! Rated T for adult themes.


**Disclaimer: All correspondences to reality in this fic are coincidental and are to be treated as such.**

**I know I don't usually do disclaimers, but I'd probably get killed if I didn't this time.**

Everyone gathered in the courtroom. It was full of eccentric people who seemed to know each other very will, because the chatter exceeded the norm. A few cat fights broke out and were disbanded by security. The judge, Justice Shrew, had a handlebar mustache and was so vertically challenged and pudgy that he looked like a gnome in his black robes. However, this was hard to tell from his high seat in the front of the room. On Justice Shrew's right was a middle-aged woman in hippie clothes, an old man, a teenage girl wearing punk-style clothes, and a woman with the look of a movie star spending the day at the beach, dressed in sandals and a black imperial-style tank top over jean shorts. To the judge's left was a middle-aged man in a suit and tie, wringing his hands and looking very jumpy. Overall, Justice Shrew thought them the oddest lot he'd ever had to preside over, and he'd been in charge of a great deal of weird things.

"May the prosecuting party please stand?" he said loftily in his high, squeaky voice.

The four on his right rose.

"Present your case."

The teenager in punk clothes came to the front of the room, and Justice Shrew had a better look at her. She seemed to be barely out of her teens, though her chest was exceedingly flat. She was blonde, with deep blue eyes that seemed determined and hard. She wasn't necessarily thin, but she somehow looked athletic under her skull-and-crossbones T-shirt.

Startled, Justice Shrew incredulously asked, "Am I to presume you are the lawyer for the prosecuting party?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Her voice was low for a woman.

"Ah . . . are you sure?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Would you like to see my law degree? My license?" A steely glint flashed through her eyes that wasn't . . . well, feminine. Not in the least bit.

"No, ah, that won't be necessary," Justice Shrew stammered.

"Very well, then," she said formally. "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, may I present the offenses against the accused."

The middle-aged man on the left coughed and went extremely pale. His facial expression was comparable to one's while in a lion's pit.

"The accused party, " the girl continued, pointing at the middle-aged man, "the acclaimed author Rick Riordan, failed to copyright his written work in defense of the businesses, Crusty's Water Bed Palace, Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium, and C.C.'s Spa and Resort. The following businesses were associated with monsters that are harmful to potential customers. No section of the copyright in any of his books claim that any of their correspondence with reality is coincidental and is to be treated as such. Because of this, the profits of the prosecutors have lowered."

The judge nodded. "Witnesses for the prosecutors?"

The middle-aged woman in hippie clothes stood, her face looking very fake, as though it was a mask and her real face looked completely different.

"Name?" Justice Shrew asked.

"Emily."

"_Last_ name?"

"Gorgon."

"Gorgon?!"

The audience snickered, and the woman looked upset. "Is there anything wrong with that?" she asked. Her hair, pulled back with a tye-dye bandanna, seemed to move.

"Um, no, of course not," said the judge, abashed.

"Yes, well, I am the owner of Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium," she said primly. "In one of Rick Riordan's so-called books, I was identified as Medusa, and was personified as a pedophile that likes to turn people into stone!" she wailed hammily. Then she pulled some posters from beneath the desk and came to the front of the room.

"This is my evidence of lower profit," she stated, and then looked down at the posterboard and gasped.

"I - I can't present this, Justice Shrew."

"And why not?" asked the judge.

"It - it's . . ." She broke into what seemed like real hysterics.

"May I see it?" the judge asked kindly.

She reluctantly handed the posters to him.

Justice Shrew immediately recognized a line graph with a negative correlation, but along the sloping line, there was the scrawl of someone who had probably used their mouth to write. It said, "Anita's intelligence," and at the bottom of the graph, there was a picture of what was apparently Anita's brain - what looked like a walnut on a stick. The other graphs contained similar insults.

"My children," Emily whispered, mortified.

"You can sit down Miss Gorgon," Justice Shrew whispered back.

She returned to her seat and put her head in her hands.

"Any other witnesses?" Justice Shrew asked.

The old man next to Emily Gorgon came to the stand.

"I'm Chuck Ergo," he said. " I own Crusty's Water Bed Palace. And ever since _his_" - Chuck pointed at Rick Riordan - "nasty book came out, I've had punks running through my store, snapping their fingers and shouting 'Ergo!' at the top of their lungs. Nobody buys anything anymore. My brilliant innovation of the lavalamp headboard has been ignored. And I don't _have_ financial backup for this loss in profit!"

"But how do we know this loss is because of Riordan's work?" the judge asked tentatively.

_"Did you hear a word I just said?!" _Chuck cried, frustrated. "Who in their right minds would run through a water bed warehouse, snapping fingers and shouting 'Ergo!' except in a fantasy book? Since when do retail shop owners torture kids? Do I _look_ like a psychotic child-torturer to you?"

"Umm," the judge stammered. The answer was yes but he didn't want to give it.

"Just as I thought," Chuck snarled, and sat back down.

"Well," said Justice Shrew, "if nobody from the prosecuting party wishes to give further witness, then - "

"But you forgot about _me_!" cried the young woman in the black tank top.

"Oh, right." Justice Shrew gave a martyred expression.

"I'm Chrissy Cay," she said excitedly as she bounded to the front of the room, "and I live in Bermuda, where I own C.C.'s Spa and Resort. But I've often been accused of turning men into guinea pigs, and I've gotten less couples coming in to do business. I miss their cute, loving effect on the place." She looked both sad and yet sick at the thought.

"Yes, well, we all know that people can't turn each other into guinea pigs," the judge said fairly.

"Of course," she said, glaring at him as though sizing him up to be a very fat chipmunk. Justice Shrew gulped. She sat back down.

Rick Riordan stood. "I don't have anything to say in my defense," he said, looking around the room as if those around him were carnivorous beasts. "Why don't we just say they won the lawsuit and I'm free to leave?" He mumbled something about being devoid of limbs.

Justice Shrew sighed. Why did he always get the nuts? "Very well, then," he said, exasperated. "Case closed.

He left the room.

"Finally!" cried Medusa, dusting off her hippie clothes. "I thought he'd never leave."

"I'm hungry," said a voice in the back. Others nodded.

"No!" Circe ejaculated. "I want to turn him into a guinea pig!"

"But he will be smaller then!" cried Joe Bob.

"And not nearly as tasty!" Bone Crusher exclaimed.

"I'm not that tasty anyway," Rick said, lifting his arms in defense. "My mom's only a minor goddess."

"Muse meat!" cried Joe Bob.

THe other monsters slowly took up the chant. "Muse meat! Muse meat! Muse meat! Muse meat!"

The novelist pulled a sword out of nowhere and brandished it fiercely.

"A fight to the death! A fight to the death!" Bone Crusher clamored.

The girl in punk clothes stood. "A fight to the death, indeed." She brandished a sword as well. "I will be his opponent!"

"Who _are_ you?" Rick asked.

She gave a deep, throaty laugh. "I am Nemesis, god of revenge!"

"You shop in the junior's section?" Rick asked, mortified.

He - she - it - the deity laughed again. "The reason other account of Greek Mythology call me a girl is because I am a world-class cross-dresser!"

An anguished cry came from the audience. "Ethan Nakamura piped up, "You are so embarrassing, Dad! This is why I joined Kronos in the first place! Why did you _have_ to follow me? _I'm _supposed to be rebelling here, not _you_!"

Nemesis frowned. "But I thought you_ wanted_ to spend quality time with your old man."

"_Old_ is right!" Ethan sneered. "Like your dress-up act. You think I'm _proud_ to have a cross-dressing father? Why don't you just grow up?"

The deity had no words.

"Oh, forget it," Ethan snarled. "All you need to know is that I'm betraying you a second time, and joining the gods!"

He went to join Rick Riordan and pulled out a sword as well.

There was an awkward silence.

"A fight to the death!" Joe Bob cried again, and the monsters took up the _Muse meat_ chant once more.

"Nemesis," said Rick Riordan, "if you kill me today, tell my wife and children that I love them, that I died for a good cause, and tell my fans that I'm sorry I never got to finish _The Last Olympian_."

Nemesis nodded gravely.

"And give my unicorn collection to Thalia," Rick added as an afterthought.

Nemesis rolled his eyes and charged.

"A fight to the death!" Ethan and Rick Riordan cried simultaneously.

The demigods went to battle.


End file.
